


grey with dreams of yesterday

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, Surreal, Very visceral, ok the major character death is like............you have 2 read it to understand, quite heavy this one, very much about death and lots of visuals of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: Charles’ head thuds deafeningly as he wakes up slowly. He’s got no idea when he passed out last night, or even where he is, but he doesn’t want to open his eyes for fear of getting his retinas burnt out. At least, that’s what he feels like will happen.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	grey with dreams of yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singlemalter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/gifts).

> ok so like i said in the tags, if you're very sensitive it might be a little disturbing but i'm being overly liberal here. you'll be fine, but if you think it might disturb you, then don't read.  
anyway. this is for malter, who is one of my closest friends, and i love him very much. it's his birthday tomorrow (not that he's been reminding us or anything) so i thought i would write him something nice and light hearted. [WAVES SARCASM FLAG]  
love you bro :)  
(title from come home by placebo)

Charles’ head thuds deafeningly as he wakes up slowly. He’s got no idea when he passed out last night, or even where he is, but he doesn’t want to open his eyes for fear of getting his retinas burnt out. At least, that’s what he feels like will happen. He sighs and gently opens his eyes, thankful when the world doesn’t seem to end when he regains his vision.

He’s lying on a floor in...someone’s mansion, and his back feels damp, like he’s been laying in a puddle. Or, to be more accurate, is still laying - he should probably fix that, he thinks, so he pushes himself gradually up until he’s sitting with his head in his knees. He groans softly, his whole body stiff and aching from the hangover. As he stands, he looks down at the patch where he was sitting and notes that despite his damp arse, it looks pretty dry.

The dawn light paints the room blue, cascading over the mess of sleeping bodies on the floor. Looks like he’s the first one awake. He gets out of what he thinks is the living room and into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and downing it all in one go. A shiver shoots down his spine and he shudders, suddenly very aware of where he is.

Daniel’s LA house has always been like a maze to him, too many rooms and corridors for his liking. He wanders out through the huge glass double doors into the cool morning air, the breeze a refreshing change to the hungover house. The sky is all kinds of colours, orange and blue and pink and red all layered together on the horizon, like a heap of blankets hastily thrown on a bed.

He yawns and glances at the pool. It’s huge, and the clear water is so enticing to his grimy post-party skin, but before he can jump in he catches a glimpse of something floating in the middle. Something - or someone? He squints in the dim light and his stomach flips when it floats into focus.

A body, face down, lifeless, and limp, bounces against the tiles by Charles’ feet. He quickly kneels down, grabbing the thin material of the dress and pulling the body towards him. The pale back shines in the light and Charles feels a weird breeze across his back as he tries to turn the body over. It bobs in the water, and Charles leans right over to pull the body so it’s facing the sky. As he scratches the skin, he gets the weirdest sensation on his arm, like someone’s digging their nails into his flesh and-

He almost falls in the pool when the body rolls itself over in the water. His own dead face stares back up at him, piercing his soul with wide green eyes, sharp as daggers. His breathing stills - or, at least, he thinks it does; it actually seems to have been still for a few hours now. He stumbles backwards, falling on his hands and beginning to hyperventilate - is he dead? Is he a ghost? What the hell is going on?

Trying to look away is futile, he’s glued to his own blood-drained face, the water splashing gently against porcelain cheeks. He can feel the droplets on his skin, but he’s starting to feel floaty, suddenly aware that he’s not in his own body. A gust of wind shoots through the palm trees beside the pool, but he doesn’t feel it, and he digs his nails into his upper arms to try and get some feeling into them but he gets  _ nothing. _

He doesn’t see the dark portal appear, it’s just suddenly there, like he’s in a dream. Maybe that’s it, he’s just dreaming, and pretty soon he’ll wake up in someone else’s bed, with mind, body, and soul full of regrets but very much alive. A tall, pale, skeletal figure steps out, draped in torn black fabric, empty voids where Their eyes should be; exactly how he’d imagine Death to look like. No scythe, which mildly disappoints him, but ho hum. He swallows nervously and feels his body waver.

“Am I dead?”

** _“Yes.”_ **

Their voice is heavy and booming, and it grates Charles’ ears. He glances back at his body, and Death’s head swings round on Their spindly neck, lolling a little as they both stare at Charles’ inanimate corpse. He looks more and more like a drowned rat, and the truly unreal situation starts to sink in.

“Why?”

If They could have, Death would have blinked at that. Charles rubs his foot against his ankle and tries desperately to keep both feet on the ground.

** _“Because it is your time.”_ **

“No it’s not. That’s not fair,” Charles whines - few have the balls to  _ whine  _ at Death Themself, but Charles has never been one to care about such things. “I’ve got things to do.”

** _“Everyone has things to do.”_ **

Charles drifts over to his body and tries to shake it, but his hands go straight through, and he starts to panic. Is it too late? Is he gone? He spins round and looks into Death’s eye sockets, feeling nothing but sheer, dear-in-headlights terror.

“I can’t...I can’t die. Not now. Not like this. Not in a fucking swimming pool.”

** _“Not everything in your life has ever gone to plan. Why did you think this would be any different?”_ **

He twitches. Blinks away visions of splintered carbon fibre, bouncing tyres, smoke. A real death. Not...drunk and drowned in a dress in someone else’s pool.

“Is it too late? Can I come back?”

** _“No.”_ **

“No as in...”

** _“It’s too late. Nobody can help you.”_ **

“Why?” He asks again, his breathing speeding up instinctively. “Why? That’s not-this can’t be real. I’m not here. This isn’t happening.”

** _“I’m afraid it is, Charles.”_ **

Charles glances at the smokey clouds and paces backwards, his footing failing but no fall coming. He feels faint, and when he looks down, he can see right through his hands to the shimmering water below.

He shakes as he realises the gravity of the situation. He doesn’t want to go. He’s spent years taunting death, screaming in its face, crying and weeping and mourning and cursing but now that Death Themself is actually here for him, his chest constricts and he repeats one single mantra in his waning mind;  _ I don’t want to go. _

He’s still got to win his championship. He’s still got to beat Seb. He’s still got to see, do, feel, love, lose, cry, fuck, hurt. He’s not going. No fucking way is he going. Not like this.  _ Not like this. _

“No.” Death doesn’t react, just stands there, motionless - to Charles, They look weak. “I don’t have to go, do I?”

Death remains still. Paralysed, just like Charles.

“What would happen if I just...stayed?”

No answer.

“Fucking answer me!”

Charles tries to scream but his throat feels tight, like someone is pressing down on it with their heel. He flails in the air but realises that makes him lose himself even faster, so he stays boldly still, clutching himself in an attempt to remain grounded.

** _“You may find that out for yourself.”_ **

Before Charles can answer, the doors open and Daniel steps groggily out onto the patio. He nonchalantly sips his coffee, and Charles realises that he can’t see what’s going on at all. Something snaps inside him and he dives towards his own body, flying straight through and finding himself underwater, a tiny bubble emerging as he breathes out as hard as he can.

_ There’s still breath in me yet. _

Death does nothing as Charles drags himself up and starts clawing ferally at his own chest, and Daniel glances over as Charles starts to scream. He doesn’t know how loud he’s being, but he must have made at least some kind of noise as Daniel hurries over, a dawning expression of realisation seeping across his face.

“Fuck. Charles? CHARLES?!”

_ “IT’S ME, I’M STILL FUCKING HERE!”  _ Charles screams, and Daniel pulls him out of the water, dropping him on the tiles. Daniel starts sloppily performing CPR and Charles takes another look at Death, still standing, unmoving, everpresent. Death’s words echo in his screaming mind - nobody can help you.

_ So I have to help myself. _

Charles starts to slam his fists on his body, past Daniel’s hands, beating down until he can feel a dull ache start to form in his palms. He scratches at the thin silk, tearing tiny lines in the bright red dress as he forces himself back into his body, pushing and pushing and screaming a loud, high pitched whine as he pulls himself home from the abyss.

His limbs start to regain more and more feeling, and he swings them violently against the tiles, wincing in triumphant agony when he finally feels a painful thump. He starts slashing and mauling at his own neck, forcing breath back through into his lungs, and after what seems like a nightmare of a lifetime, he sees himself take a desperate, roaring breath.

As he breathes out, he closes his eyes and throws himself with all his power back into his now breathing chest. There’s a jolt, and he feels tight, swallowed by his own body, but the warmth and satisfaction that pierces him overrides any discomfort. His eyes fly open and he coughs out disgusting, chlorinated water, choking on it as Daniel freaks out beside him. Pierre and Esteban have rushed to his side by now as well, and Pierre, ever the gentleman, pulls him into the recovery position before he vomits and blacks out.

-

When he wakes up, it’s in a hospital bed. Red silk replaced with rough, teal cotton, water replaced with a lumpy adjustable bed, chlorine replaced with the artificial taste of hospital food. He rubs his eyes and glances around - Pierre and Daniel are slumped on a sofa by the wall, and Esteban is on the other side, looking at him warily.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he smiles, leaning in slightly. “How’re you feeling?”

Charles flexes his fingers, rubs his face, prods at his neck.

“Alive, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I...don’t know. I don’t know.” He closes his eyes again, Death’s eye sockets burnt into the backs of his retinas, Their toothpick neck and tattered robes not something that will be leaving his nightmares any time soon. “I was there but...I wasn’t.”

Esteban’s brow furrows and he gently takes Charles’ hand.

“Like...a nightmare? When you were in the water?”

“No,” He balks. “This was...this was real.”

“It might have felt like that but-”

“I know what the fuck happened to me, Esteban.”

Charles snaps and pulls his hand away, and Esteban gingerly folds his hands in his lap.

“Sorry. What did you see?”

“I saw…I  _ felt  _ Death. They stood right there, told me I had to go, it was my time, but...I got away. I cheated Death.” Charles starts to laugh at that, giddy and powerful. “I beat Death.”

“If we hadn’t found you, you would have drowned, idiot. The doctor said it was a miracle you came back at all.”

Esteban’s face is wracked with concern, but Charles couldn’t care less. He feels like a fucking  _ God _ .

“I did that. I clawed my way back into my fucking body, I looked Death in Their empty fucking eyes and I said  _ not fucking today.  _ Oh, there is nothing in this fucking world that can beat me now, Esteban. Not you, not Max, not Sebastian...I’m free. You hear that? I’m FREE!”

Esteban nods slowly, eyes wide as he leans back in his chair. Charles laughs. And he laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs in the face of Death. And Death watches, and watches.

And slowly sharpens Their scythe.


End file.
